


The blatant proof was your lips touching mine in the photobooth.

by Mellaithwen



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Birthday, Community: then_theres_us, F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-20
Updated: 2010-08-20
Packaged: 2018-01-18 04:02:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1414327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mellaithwen/pseuds/Mellaithwen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor uses his torchwood ID to cut Rose a large piece of sponge cake and white icing smears across the goofy grin that sits there on the card.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The blatant proof was your lips touching mine in the photobooth.

**Author's Note:**

> title belongs to Death Cab for Cutie
> 
> Written for challenge 47 at then_theres_us

 

*

  
_And everything that I said was true,_  
_As the flashes blinded us in the photobooth._  
_Well, I lost track, and then those words were said._  
_You took the wheel and you steered us into my bed._  
\--Death Cab for Cutie.

 

*

 

The Doctor takes Rose to the funfair for her birthday.

She prefers these little adventures they share together. The kind that aren’t on distant planets, but excite her just the same. She doesn’t say this out loud; she knows she doesn’t need to.

She squeezes his hand and the Doctor squeezes back.

“Dodgems?” He asks.

“Dodgems.” She agrees.

*

The bright lights from the carousels and bumper cars are shining in the sky and the Doctor is practically bouncing where he stands. There’s a teeny smudge of dropped ketchup from his hot-dog on his shirt, and Rose takes a great deal of pleasure from brushing the crumbs off of his cheek.

She likes the way his eyes glaze over like he can’t quite believe how lucky he is. Like he’s suddenly reminded that she’s there with him, and that he’ll keep waking up beside her for as long as he lives.

They ride the ghost train, and Rose finds herself cuddling up closer as they go further into the dark.

“Not scared are you?” The Doctor asks with a small smile and a squeeze of her shoulders—and Rose finds herself unable to turn away. She just stares up at him in the eerie red glow of the ride as their car goes around the track. She ignores the cobwebs and spiders and ghosts and zombies and just smiles at the Doctor who’s hugging her closer and closer. Her finger sneaks in between one of the buttons of his shirt and his eyebrows rise ever so slightly.

The moment is lost when a man dressed up as a skeleton jumps out and shouts in their faces. Rose shrieks and the Doctor jumps up in his seat with a loud, _“Bloody hell!_ ”

The skeleton chuckles, the ride continues, and the Doctor and Rose silently seethe with their own rubbish timing.

*

“I love you.”

“Oh is that why you kept ramming your bumper car into me?”

“Of course.”

 

*

The Doctor buys a small plain cake in the spar near the entrance to the fair. He disappears for a good solid ten minutes and just when Rose is starting to get ever so slightly irritated, he appears again, hands held aloft, presenting her with her own birthday cake complete with twelve burning candles.

“Happy birthday, Rose.” He says. “Make a wish.”

“No need.” She beams, blowing out the candles all in one go. They lay their coats down on the ground behind the ferris wheel and sit cross-legged on the dirty ground. The Doctor uses his torchwood ID to cut Rose a large piece of sponge cake and white icing smears across the goofy grin that sits there on the card.

When he leans in for a kiss, Rose decides that shoving cake in his mouth would be far amusing. She spends the next half an hour giggling while the Doctor tries to lick the fondant off of his nose.

*

Going on the Waltzers when you’ve just eaten cake is not a good idea, regardless of what a certain Time Lord might tell you about his supposed advanced ability to deal with extreme nausea.

The same can be said for the Tilt-A-Whirl and the Helter Skelter, and anything else that _moves_ , just so you know.

*

“I love you too, by the way.” She calls out while they’re both lost in the house of mirrors, each trying to find the other’s real form past the millions of reflections surrounding them.

“Brilliant.” He replies, through the labyrinth of Rose’s. “Supercalifragilisti—”

“I get it!”

“Oh you’re no fun.”

When he finally finds her, it’s because he can hear her singing through the reflected glass. _Um-diddle-diddle-um-diddleye, um-diddle-diddle-um-diddleye…._

 

*

The Doctor runs through three rolls of film, and one disposable camera.

Some of the photos are of the rides, and the lights, and the toys and the food.

Most are of Rose.

Despite all of this, he insists that they cannot leave until they have visited the photobooth at least once. Rose agrees whole-heartedly.

 

*

“Ow.”

“This isn’t going to work.”

“Well shimmy over a little.”

“I have shimmied across as far as I possibly can.”

“I’ve managed to get six people in one of these things at the same time before, I think we can manage with just two.”

“Did they have detachable limbs?!”

“Now that you mention it...”

“Oh for— _stop fidgeting!_ Move out of the way, I want to try something.”

Rose pushes her way out of the small photobooth, righting herself before toppling and turning back to where the Doctor sits happily on the tiny stool. Straightening her skirt, she goes back in, standing between the Doctor and the screen.

She perches on his right knee and feels the Doctor stiffen beneath her. She grins mischievously at the stunned silence her sitting down has created.

“How’s this?” She asks, crossing her legs and turning around to smile at the Doctor behind her.

“T-this could work.” He stammers, gulping somewhat and leaning forward to put the remaining change in the slot.

“Yeah?” Rose smirks. “I’m glad.” She whispers, leaning in to kiss him.

His lips taste like birthday cake, and hers taste of strawberry bubble-gum. It shouldn’t go together at all, it shouldn’t work, it shouldn’t fit, and yet, here they are, huddled together in the photobooth, eyes closed to the camera flashes, one, two, three, four.

They stay like that for hours, pausing only to add more change, and occasionally smile in the general vicinity of the camera.

When they finally decide to leave, because the sun is setting and the stool they’re both perched on is too uncomfortable to bear, they will find fourteen black and white photo strips waiting for them.

“So, have you had a good birthday?” The Doctor will ask, arms encompassing Rose’s waist as she flips through the photos, careful not to smudge their intimate moments caught on film.

“Yeah,” She’ll whisper, leaning back into the cuddle, “the best.”

 

_-Fin._

 


End file.
